


Bang bang. My baby shot me down.

by FaerieDream



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Attraction, Emotional, Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Pining, this story is a bit crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6194062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaerieDream/pseuds/FaerieDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jon is about halfway through the bottle, Kaner’s name flashes on his cellphone, accompanied by a shrill ringtone. He throws the device on the wall, and absently watches it fall to the floor.<br/>‘LOVE IS SUCH A FUCKING BITCH’ he screams at the empty room.<br/>The only voices that answer him are those of the commentators on his television set.<br/>When the bottle is empty, and Jon is lying on the floor half-conscious, three knocks fall on his door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bang bang. My baby shot me down.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was mostly written for myself. It is full of half-formed thoughts and fuck-it-all-to-hell's. It has a bit of humor, a bit of redundance, a lot of passion and a lot of heartache. It's so far from canon it's basically a slingshot.  
> It reads quite weirdly, and will probably leave you with feelings you can't quite name.  
> I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. :)

Jonny hates nights like this one, when he gets drunk enough to let himself feel. When he goes out with the guys after a game, forgets about being careful around Kaner, and drinks just a bit too much to control anything that goes on in his head. The feelings that creep under his guard on those occasions are never good ones. Jealousy, anger, sorrow, pain, hopelessness, and an incredibly heavy longing. The more he feels, the more he drinks, and the more he drinks, the louder gets the chorus in his mind:

_Get over him get over him get over him…_

When he catches himself trying in vain to come up with circumstances under which Kaner would let him steal a kiss, he usually knows it’s time to go. 

Tonight, he stops himself at the 'my dying wish is to fucking kiss you' scenario, which ends much like the others: with rejection and heartbreak.  
Ok, time to put an end to this disaster of a night.

"'M gonna go guys, anybody wanna share a cab?"

Sharpy takes him up on his offer, and they both nod goodbye to the rest of the boys.

Patrick doesn't even notice their leaving; he's too busy texting his mystery girlfriend with a smirk burnt onto his lips.

Jon wants to punch a wall. 

******************************************************************************************

The next day is better. Johnny's back in his best friend role, and spends about 70% less time staring at Patrick's lips.  
They have the day off on home turf, and both decide to spend it the usual way: hanging out at Jonny’s place, working out, playing video games and drinking all his gluten-free beer.  
Patrick’s in the kitchen, getting a couple more brews for Mario Kart, when his phone rings on the couch. It’s close enough to him that Johnny can’t help but pick it up and peek at the name that shows up on the screen. You know, in case it’s one of the Hawks. Or something.  
It’s not.

“Kaner?” he shouts.

No answer. 

“Somebody named Alex is calling, Kaner.”

The player in question runs into the room, beers in his hand and blood gone from his face, and rushes to rip his phone from Jon's limp fingers. 

"I, uh... Have to take this."

Oh.

"Sure, Kaner."

Jonny's jaw tightens and his knuckles whiten as Patrick goes into the hallway to answer the call.

So. Alex is apparently the name of the luckiest woman in the world. Great.

_Get a hold of yourself, Tazer._

Jon only has to screw his eyes shut and grit his teeth for another minute or two before he hears a faint: “Yeah, me too. Bye.”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to unclench his fists when his _best friend, Tazer, fucking straight fucking best fucking friend, Tazer,_ shuffles awkwardly back into the gaming room. He finally sets the beers on the table, sits down, and reaches for his controller.

"Wait." Johnny stops him with a hand on his wrist.

Looks like they're doing this _now._

"You know you can trust me, right, Kaner?"

Kaner cringes and Jon’s heart breaks a little more.

“Tazer, I appreciate that, really I do, but I’d rather not talk about it.”

"Why are you hiding her?"

“Tazer…”

"No, come on. You know I'll support you no matter what. Why… Why do you feel like you have to keep her a secret from me?”

“I…”

“What's the problem, is she an escaped criminal or something?”

“Erm, no? What the fuck?”

“… Is she Canadian?”  
Jonny tries for humor. It works a bit.

“No, thank God.”

“Or worse, does she not like hockey?" Jon fake-gasps.

“No, dickhead,” Patrick laughs. “It’s none of that. It’s nothing. We’re not even a couple. When I find someone worth ‘introducing to the family’, you’ll meet her, I promise.”

“But… you want to be a couple, right? I mean… Does she know how you feel about her? I see how eagerly you always answer her texts, man. Smiling and blushing, we can all see it.”  
Jon tries to hide from his voice the bitterness that those words pull out of him. 

“No! I don’t feel anything for her.”

“Right…”

“Seriously! I just... Like seeing her. She's helping me work through some stuff. Now, can we please do anything but talk about this?”

“I… Okay. But, you know, if you ever need –“

“Yes, yes, if I need anything, I can come to Captain Serious, PhD in Helping Kaner Out When He Fucks Up. I know. Thanks.”

 

In hindsight, Jonny should have known that starting that ‘mystery girlfriend’ conversation had been a terrible idea. 

The following week is a mess. Kaner avoids him as much as he can and shows up to practice one day with a hickey. 

Which… yeah. ‘Makes Jonny see red’ would be a tremendous understatement. It makes him fume. It makes his every movement a bit sharper, a bit more calculated, a bit more forceful. It makes his every word taste bitter on his tongue. It makes his every smile taste like acid on his lips. He’s torn between wanting to blind himself with a knife and wanting to cover that purple mark with his own hands, mouth and teeth until it disappears.

He knew. He knew that Pat and _Alex_ had sex, of course. He knew that someone touched him, kissed him, and sucked bruises on his neck whenever they wanted. It’s just that he preferred not to think about it when possible. 

So, when that hickey peeks out from under Patrick’s collar, and all those torturing images invade Jonny’s mind, well… It hits him like a metaphorical shit-ton of bricks. He’s useless at practice. He yells at everyone, yet his own game is the most pathetic. Q must think that something serious has happened, because he doesn’t even call him out on his bullshit. When he looks at his teammates, all he sees are round eyes and downcast gazes. Sharpy’s the only one that looks back unflinchingly, bless him. Jonny suspects that he knows. 

The next day, they win their game against the Blue Jackets by the skin of their teeth. Yeah, it’s not a win anyone’s proud of. It’s only the start of the season, but it should have been a much cleaner victory.

And to top that shit-show of a week off, Jon loses _another_ fucking jersey. Seriously, he doesn’t know where they all go. It must be the 5th one he loses this year.  
****************************************************************************************  
Kaner knocks on his door sometime between their shitty win and the next practice.

“Kaner.” Jon says eloquently when he sees him.

“Can I come in?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, pushing his way into Jon’s apartment with a nervous twitch in his hands. He whips around quickly and starts reeling off a poorly prepared speech.

“I’m sorry. I was… feeling weird, and I… I didn’t want to… Anyway. I was stupid. You didn’t even do anything, I just… Forget it. You’re my friend, I shouldn’t ignore you like that no matter what. I know it pissed you off, and you’re right to be pissed off. But… Our little fucking quarrels are affecting the team now, and… I’ve been really immature. So. Yeah. I’m sorry. No more stupidities from this guy. Sorry.”

Of course Pat would think that Tazer went berserk because he hates when his best friend avoids him. Of course Pat doesn’t know it was because he’s a jealous, possessive freak. Of course Pat would think this fiasco week was all his fault.

You’re an imbecile, Tazer.

“Are you gonna say anything?”

Kaner is looking pointedly away from Jon, voice frustrated and small.

“That’s a lot of ‘sorry’s for a non-Canadian.”

Two smiles are cracked simultaneously, and break the heavy silence in the room.

Just like that, the dynamic duo is back.  
******************************************************************************************  
They end up watching shitty movies for the rest of the day, laughing louder than necessary at each other’s jokes to seal their apologies. It’s like a twelve wheeler’s weight has been lifted from Johnny’s heart. 

It might have left behind a couple of wheels, though. 

Kaner seems to be avoiding as much physical contact as possible. It’s not obvious, but he sits a couple inches further than he usually does, retracts his hand a couple instants earlier when they brush against each other, and puts things on the table instead of handing them directly to Johnny. 

Whatever, he might still be feeling on edge after their pseudo-fight. It won’t last.

Except that it does. It’s nothing noticeable to anyone else, but Jon sees the distance Kaner is maintaining between them in the following weeks. It doesn’t really affect them: they play beautifully, rile each other up and tease one another as much as ever. It does, however, tickle the back of Tazer’s mind sometimes; like a harmless fly landing on the same spot over and over and over again. 

At some point, the fly lays eggs in Tazer’s brain and crawling maggots start whispering answers to the question he’s been avoiding. 

‘He doesn’t want to touch you because he knows what you think about when you look at him’

‘He’s drawing back because he doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea.’

‘He’s sitting next to Sharpy because he doesn’t want your hand so close to his thighs.’

‘He knows, and he’s giving you the space to get over him.’

‘He knows, and he wants you to get over him.’

‘He knows.’

At first, Jon ignores it and convinces himself that he just isn’t reading things right. Nobody’s said a word about it or shot them questioning glances, after all. Nothing’s wrong. The negative space is meaningless.

Gradually, though, the maggots get harsher.

‘He knows, you idiot.’

‘He pities you.’

‘You disgust him.’

Whenever Kaner avoids his touch, Johnny starts getting a panicked glow in his eyes, because maybe, just maybe… Maybe he does know.

Kaner explicitly doesn’t react to Jon’s turmoil, and that’s the beginning of the end. A weird tension grows between them one tactile evasion at a time. It’s still blurry around the edges, not big enough to discuss but definitely there. Jon can deny its existence no less than he could deny his own. The way they look at each other is off.  
The words they choose to speak to one another are off. The way they walk side by side is off. A plethora of tiny details that eventually amounts to the weight of a twelve wheeler on Tazer’s heart.

Eventually, there’s no more room for doubt: Kaner knows. 

The day of this realisation, Tazer drops onto his couch as soon as he gets home. He stares blankly at the dark screen of his television, listening intently to the anxious pounding in his ribcage. He stays in that state for what feels like hours.

Then, Kaner knocks, because of course he would.

A grey “Come in,” comes out of Jon’s comatose mouth.

A painful minute later, the unrequited love of Tazer’s life enters his apartment. 

Fifteen silent minutes go by before another word is uttered. They’re sitting at the dining table, two steaming coffees sitting with them knowing fully that they will never be drunk. The four of them know why they’re here. No more pretense. Johnny’s resigned, guessing with certainty the agonizing outlines of the upcoming conversation.

The coffees are calm, oblivious to the tightness in the air. They are the only targets of both hockey players’ gazes.

Suddenly, Kaner shatters the unbearable stillness with a loud inhalation.

“Listen, Tazer…” 

He never finishes his thought, because something in the tone he uses snaps a taut thread in Tazer’s mind and he cuts him off abruptly.

“I know, alright?” he says, deciding that the information hurts enough without having heard it from Kaner’s flesh-pink lips. “I know.”

Said lips are parted for a moment before closing soundlessly.

They part again some breathless moments later.

“You do?” 

But the question is weak, like he had somewhat been expecting the answer.

Johnny sighs dejectedly, before mustering all the guts he has to push the next sentence through his teeth.

“But it was never gonna work, right?” 

As soon as he says it, the inexorable truth of it crushes him, and he realizes just how pathetic he’s been for the past years. 

“Right.”

The word is somber, and Johnny prays that Kaner’s voice doesn’t continue its road to full-blown pity. 

“Hm,” Johnny starts again. “I mean, it’s… attraction is… not something you can control, right? I’m… I’m sorry. If I could, I’d change things.”

He’d really tried, too.

“Trust me,” he continues, “I would.” 

Tazer’s eyes leave the cooling coffee and slide up to Kaner’s own. Regret punches him hard. 

If Pat’s voice hadn’t reached pity yet, his face definitely had.

“No, it’s me,” he says. “I’m sorry, Jon. I know you didn’t want to have this conversation. Shit, it’s not your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault. We’re just in a shitty situation, but we’ll pull through, right? We’ve gotta pull through. I won’t let this kill our friendship.”

“Yeah.”

But Johnny feels like something’s been broken.  
******************************************************************************************

The next day, they suffer a disappointing loss against the Rangers after a strenuous game, and Johnny’s too exhausted to even try to reprimand or comfort anyone. He shoves his jersey into his bag with more force than necessary, determined not to create a repeat of last week in any way, jersey-loss-wise or otherwise. Anyhow, he thinks he can’t afford to lose another, he must have reached the jersey-replacement limit. If that exists. 

Dull thoughts help him block out the other, more invasive thoughts that want to enter his mind. It’s how he deals with bad losses.

Kaner deals differently.

He doesn’t see Kaner leave, but he sees his face when he gets off the ice: it’s enough to know that he’s going drinking tonight.

They haven’t had the chance to speak to one another since their talk at Johnny’s, so he doesn’t quite know how they’ve reacted to it yet. He hopes Kaner will call him before he drinks himself into a coma.

Kaner doesn’t call.  
******************************************************************************************  
‘Are you alright?’ is the text Johnny sends Kaner the next morning. Followed by: ‘Wanna play videogames and pretend we didn’t suck yesterday?’ 

Five hours later, his texts remain unanswered. He tries the landline, unsuccessfully.

Jon is just beginning to slip into panic mode when his cellphone starts ringing and Kaner’s name shows up on the screen. 

“Kaner, finally, fuck! Where are you?”

“Ummm.” That’s not Kaner.

“Who is this?”

“I’m the barman at O’Bucks. Your friend left his phone here. This was the last number on the call list. Mind asking him to pick it up?”

“I’ll pick it up for him. Sorry for the trouble.”

On the way to the bar, Jon’s head is full of static and garbled questions.

_Why didn’t he call me? Where is he? How will I find him? Kaner doesn’t lock his phone?! Why didn’t he call me? Who was he with? Should I call the guys?_

The only question he bothers asking the barman when he recovers the cellphone is:

‘Do you remember a blond guy, ‘bout yea tall, loud, blue eyed, came in yesterday?’

“Um, yeah. Comes here a lot? Is drunk a lot?”

Affirmative grunt.

“Yeah. Had to cut him off at some point, then someone picked him up and got him the fuck out of here.”

Grateful grunt.

Jon walks out of the bar with gritting teeth and fisted hands. 

He hopes nothing finds its way to Deadspin. 

He knew it had been a bad loss, but it hadn’t been _that_ bad. It hadn’t been worthy of this level of self-destruction, that’s for sure. Kaner must still be fucked up about their conversation, then. He said it wouldn’t affect their friendship, but God knows that’s easier said than done. How much had it really affected them?

_Enough for him to call somebody else to pick him up instead of me._

Who had he called?

Jon takes Patrick’s phone in hand and checks his texts. The last text Pat had sent had been to…

Jon freezes.

_Alex._

Lately, with the whole mess between him and Kaner, he had almost forgotten about Alex. Well, he certainly wasn’t forgetting now, not with the way his heart was clenching and his stomach was trying to find shelter in his throat.

To **Alex ;)** : plsss pik meup neeeedhlp bsr whjere we met

So. Kaner had trusted Alex more than Jon when he had needed someone. 

Jon feels like dying, a little bit. 

Quite a lot, actually.

Just how much had he lost of Kaner?

He texts Alex, fingers shaking despite his best efforts to compose himself: ‘Hey, this is a friend of Kaner’s. Is he alright? He left his phone at the bar.’

A couple of minutes pass, lulled by Jon’s irregular breaths. 

‘Yeah, he’s okay. Who’s this?’

‘Johnny.’

Did Alex know about him? Did Kaner ever talk about him?

‘Nice to meet you, Johnny. Do you think you could drop off the phone, if it’s not too much to ask? :)’

Johnny doesn’t think he could handle meeting Alex.

‘Sure, I’ll just need the address.’

Still, he’d always been a bit of a masochist. 

‘398 Sussex Road’  
******************************************************************************************  
Jon parks his car in front of 398 Sussex Road.

He stares at his hands. He stares at the wheel. He stares through the windows. The torture he had been driving towards has already started. 

He is about to meet Alex. He is about to see Kaner. 

His heart is about to explode. 

Suddenly, he has no idea what he is doing in front of 398 Sussex Road. Is he there for Alex? For the phone? For Kaner? For the pain? For trying to get over him?

But…He never wants to get over him. 

He _has never_ wanted to get over him. He never even tried.  
He loves loving Kaner. It’s the only thing that makes him feel alive. It makes him miserable, but it also makes him the happiest he’s ever been. It makes him feel _real._ It’s better than sex, fuck, it’s better than hockey. Loving Kaner has become the definition of himself. Underneath, he is nothing more than a persona.

So that’s why he’s there.

He is walking towards the door of 398 Sussex Road because his life only matters when Patrick is in it, and the realisation isn’t even as overwhelming as it is exhilarating. 

He is knocking on the door of 398 Sussex Road because there is a possibility that, on the other side of that door, there will be Patrick.

‘Um, hey.’

Some guy answers Johnny’s knocks. It’s not Patrick.

Jon checks the address on the mailing box. 398.

‘This is… Kaner’s here, right?’ Jon asks.

‘Yeah,’ replies the guy. 

‘I’m uh, Johnny.’

He holds out his hand awkwardly. It falls back untouched.

The guy leans on the doorframe, hips cocked and lips smirking.

‘Oh, so you’re Johnny? Well, nice to finally meet you.’

Finally? 

Who is this guy, anyway?

The guy holds out his hand, and it’s Johnny’s turn to ignore it.

‘I’m Alex.’

Oh.

Before he can react, invisible hands come up to Jon’s neck and squeeze hard. He’s choking on the dry air that surrounds them. Invisible claws dig into the flesh of Jon’s heart. He’s choking on the blood in his mind. Invisible blades cut into Jon’s belly. He’s choking on the pain in his gut. He almost screams.

Instead, he shoves the cellphone into the guy’s outstretched hand and turns on his heels. 

He walks back slowly to his car, and drives it around the corner. He parks, and finally takes a breath. It’s brutal and loud, and it barely registers.

Alex is a guy.

Kaner is dating/in love with/kissing/licking/sucking/fucking/caressing/touching a guy.

Kaner likes men. 

He just doesn’t like Jon.

Jon’s mind becomes blank. A white-hot light fills him and presses everywhere. His skull is going to burst. His bones are going to shatter. His chest is going to crack open. His skin is going to tear. 

Nothing happens.

The light directs his hand to the ignition, to the wheel, to his apartment.

He paces in his living room. He sits on his bed. He strips to his boxers and works out until his muscles give out.

His heart is clenching and unclenching erratically. He can hear the blood going through his veins.

Then, his mind starts working again.

_It’s worse._

_It’s almost worse than if he were straight. Isn’t it?_

_That’s why he didn’t want me to meet Alex. He didn’t want me to know._

_Why didn’t he tell me he was into guys?_

_I didn’t tell him either… I was too afraid that telling him I’m gay would give me the courage to tell him I love him._

_But he knows._

_Maybe that’s why he didn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to get any ideas. Maybe he didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to try anything. Maybe…_

The air in Jon’s apartment suddenly reeks of sorrow. He can barely breathe it in.

When had he and Kaner become such strangers to one another?

Jon feels like he finally understands the meaning of the word ‘heartbreak’. 

The pain doesn’t stop.

And Alex… 

Well, Alex… Just to twist the knife in the fucking wound, Alex isn’t so different to him.

He’s tall, brow haired, doe eyed, muscular. His smile had been sly and crooked, just like Jon’s.

The problem isn’t gender, or type. Kaner just… isn’t into _him._

_Is it because we’re friends?_

_Lately, our friendship has been on a fast track to failure anyway._

_Is it because I’m too boring? Plain?_

_Is it…_

_What’s wrong with me?_

_I could change. I would change into anyone for him._

Jon looks out the window. Behind a veil of red torment, he sees the nightfall. He wipes at his eyes violently, but the red stays. All that comes out are the tears he hadn’t known he had cried. The red stays. His whole body feels like a wound.

Jon walks to his kitchen. He opens a cupboard and takes out a bottle of liquor.

Tomorrow is optional skate. 

Fuck it all to hell, he’s getting drunk.  
******************************************************************************************

When Jon is about halfway through the bottle, Kaner’s name flashes on his cellphone, accompanied by a shrill ringtone. He throws the device on the wall, and absently watches it fall to the floor. 

‘LOVE IS SUCH A FUCKING BITCH’ he screams at the empty room.

The only voices that answer him are those of the commentators on his television set.

When the bottle is empty, and Jon is lying on the floor half-conscious, three knocks fall on his door.

He turns his heavy head towards the noise, and wonders if he’s going to start crying again. He hears a key turning into a lock, and a door squeaking open.

Patrick comes in.

Seeing him feels like healing hypothermia with lava. Jon can’t look away, no matter how excruciating the hurt it creates to look at him.

“Oh, Johnny…”

When Patrick wraps his arms around him to help him to his feet, Jon shudders helplessly. Pat guides him to his room and brings him to his bed. He puts him on his side, manipulating Jon’s limp body with deft hands.

_His hands…_

His hands feel warm on Jon’s naked chest.

“I think this ‘s the most you’ve touched me ‘n months.” 

Kaner freezes. His hands fall from Jon’s chest, and he looks down at the floor.

Jon can’t stop himself: “I met Alex, y’know?”

Kaner’s shoulders sink down dejectedly, and anxiety contorts his gorgeous face into a fearful mess.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he says weakly.

“No! No, Kaner, gotta talk ‘bout it now, or ’ll never tell you what I feel.”

Kaner’s eyes are avoiding Johnny’s. Silence.

He continues: “I suck at emotions, a’ight? I have ‘em all the time, but…” 

Johnny shrugs, and turns onto his back. He can’t stand seeing Kaner not looking at him.

“But, well… my way ‘f dealin’ with emotions is mostly to tell ‘em to shut up.” 

Jon hears a chuckle. His head snaps to his side, and he sees Kaner looking at him. 

They stay still, silently watching each other for a beat before Jon says: “But Alex… Alex makes me have emotions.”

He leans in towards golden curls and blue eyes.

“Bad emotions,” he whispers, and Kaner’s face grows cold.

“I never knew you were homopho-“ 

Jon cuts him off: “What… what does he have that I don’t have, Kaner?”

“What?” 

Confusion blossoms on the other man’s pale face. He looks like he expected Jon to accuse Alex of being an alien before expecting him to ask that question.

Johnny reaches for his hand, but Patrick flinches away.

“Listen, listen Kaner. Please, you gotta… listen to me. I bet I… Well, for starters, I bet I play better hockey than he does. And that’s… I mean, that’s important to you, right? And I bet, I bet I make you laugh more than he does. Well, I used to. I used to make you laugh all the time, it was so beautiful. And, and… I’m definitely more in love with you than he is.” 

Kaner’s breathing ceases for a moment.

“Johnny…”

“Head over heels doesn’t even… what’s the word…begin. Doesn’t begin to cover it. Kaner, I… God, my life is worthless without you. I love you so much. You give me a reason to live and a reason to die. I…”

“Johnny.” 

The name is barely sighed. The blonde’s face has become a portrait of wonder and bewilderment.

“Shush, ’m not finished. I got sidetracked. Where was I? Alex…Tall! He’s tall. I’m tall.”

Johnny holds a hand above his head.

“And, and he’s got brown hair!”

He points at his hair.

“He’s muscular.”

He takes Kaner’s wrist between his booze-warm fingers and guides the hand to his chest. Johnny can feel Kaner’s pulse on his skin. He slowly slides the hand down to his stomach. His muscles squirm deliciously under the other man’s palm.

The hand is carefully pulled away, but Johnny grabs it again roughly, like he doesn’t understand how he was able to survive so long without the contact.

“And, and… I know, I know I have a better ass than he does. And you like that, right? I mean, I dunno…”

Kaner’s eyes unconsciously drop to the dark briefs that are clinging to the brunette’s hips like a second skin. His head snaps up when Johnny murmurs: “I bet I could make you feel better than he can.”

Desperately, Jon pulls on Patrick’s arm to bring him closer. He follows limply, unable to move away. He looks overwhelmed.

“I’ll prove it. Please, Kaner, let me make you feel good.”

They are so close that Jon can see the goosebumps erupting on Patrick’s skin where his whispering breath is caressing it.

“I… I bet I can give better head than he can.” 

Kaner is shivering. 

“I… I bet I can eat you out better than he can.”

Soft fingers start rubbing circles at the blonde’s wrist. 

“I bet I can fuck you better than he can.”

Jon brings Patrick’s hand to the front of his boxers. It’s instantly snatched away. 

Kaner takes a step back, and _no, no, no, no…_ Not again. There’s too much space between them for Jon to be able to breathe properly.

“Please, Kaner, I’ll do anything… Let me… I can change. I can. Tell me what to do to be worth your love. Please... I…”

“Sleep, Tazer.”

The voice cuts through everything, final and blade-sharp.

Patrick’s face is expressionless when it leaves the room. Johnny feels drained. He tries to roll onto his back. He can barely move, yet he is shaking hard enough to make the bed squeak under his body. 

_What just happened? What did I do?_

He doesn’t have the lucidity to be terrified, but he has the vague feeling that he’s broken something important. Again. 

The world starts turning.

If he stays awake any longer, he’ll either start crying or vomiting again, and he doesn’t have anything left to cry or to vomit.

“Maybe tomorrow a truck’ll run over me,” he mutters hopefully.

Everything fades to black.

******************************************************************************************

When he awakens, the first thing Jon does is remember. The second thing he does is hurl into the bucket that was left on his nightstand. Then, he whimpers. Hurls. Whimpers. Hurls. Whimpers. Hurls. Inhales. 

He wants to tear off his own arms, rip out his hair in bruise-sized lumps, disappear six feet under, force a blade through his shuddering chest, howl until he breaks, cry. He wants to cry. He hurls again. 

There is a water bottle next to the bucket. He picks it up and brings it to his lips, thinking a little crazily: ‘Kaner touched this bottle’. He drinks the entire thing, hoping to drown himself in the process. He doesn’t. 

He wants to close his eyes, and just stop breathing. Stop thinking. Stop imagining. Stop hurting. When was the last time he felt alright? He closes his eyes, and sees blue eyes filled to the brim with disgust. He blinks once, and tries never to close his eyes again. 

What the fuck had he done? What the fuck is wrong with him?

What more had he managed to ruin?

There are four items on Johnny’s list of ‘things you should never do’. __  
1- Tell Kaner how jealous Alex makes you feel.  
2- Tell Kaner you’re crazy about him.  
3- Make drunken advances at him.  
4- Touch him the way you ache to.

He had managed to do all four in one booze-soaked night. 

_“God, my life is worthless without you.”_

_“Please, Kaner, let me make you feel good.”_

_“I bet I can fuck you better than he can.”_

He hears his words cut through his brain like bullet holes. A painful warmth oozes in his skull, red, red, red… The exit wounds are the worst. Is it dripping? He can feel blood dripping down his scalp, his cheeks, his chin, his naked chest. It’s going everywhere. It burns his skin, boiling, boiling red… He brings a trembling hand to the nape of his neck. It’s wet, and hot, and…

It’s only sweat. 

He takes a deep breath, and holds it in for as long as he can. When he finally exhales, on the verge of unconsciousness, he feels a bit better. 

_It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay._

He sits on the edge of his bed and pushes his sore body to its feet. He goes to the bathroom, and douses his feverish face in icy water. He avoids the image in the mirror. He starts walking to the kitchen, fingers wiping away the droplets in his eyes. 

When he enters the room and opens his eyes, Kaner is waiting for him at the table.

“Oh,” Jon says. His voice is broken.

He runs to the sink, and retches. Once, twice. Nothing comes out. Then, an acidic, yellow liquid drips from his cracked lips. He feels like his entrails are about to slide down his tongue. 

He slowly turns toward Kaner, who is sitting stoically, two steaming cups of coffee in front of him on the varnished wood. Suddenly, the sweat covering Jon’s body freezes on his skin. He shivers uncontrollably, all too aware of the fact that he’s half-naked in front of Patrick. He’s never felt so vulnerable. Nausea grips his bare throat again.

Kaner nods toward the chair in front of him. A robe is draped on the backrest. Jon wraps it around himself and stands shakily behind the chair, eyes locking onto the curls of vapor that are softly slipping out of the coffee cups. 

“I…” he says, because if he doesn’t start talking now, his lungs are either going to explode or collapse. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry. I’m _so sorry,_ Patrick. I don’t think I’ve ever sunk lower than I did yesterday.”

Kaner takes a strenuous breath. 

“Jon, listen.” 

And God, Kaner’s voice. Jon can feel his heartbeat quicken. How could he have forgotten Kaner’s voice? 

“I’ve got a lot of shit I need to tell you, alright. I’m gonna need you to cooperate and shut the fuck up for a while. Is that okay?”

Jon nods shortly, completely dumbstruck. He couldn’t say anything more if he tried. He couldn’t say anything that would make things better. There’s nothing he can say, nothing he can do that would erase what happened yesterday. He’s completely powerless. The only thing left to do is stay silent and brace himself for whatever is about to happen. Brace himself for whatever he is about to lose. Jon is not normally one to be taken over by fear, but in that moment, there is not an inch of him that is not taken over by anxiety and despair. 

Kaner’s fingers patter nervously on the tabletop. 

“Could you sit down?”

Jon mindlessly sits across from Patrick. He doesn’t know where to look.

“I don’t know where to start,” Kaner mumbles.

His hands move swiftly through his sandy hair. Once, twice. They stop. He takes a breath that makes his whole body swell. When he starts talking again, his eyes are stuck to the wooden surface in front of him.

“So… Alex. Let’s start with that.”

Something still burns in Johnny at mention of that name. His nails dig into the flesh of his palms. _Alex…_ The man who has what he can only dream of. The man who gets to love Kaner and not feel guilty about it. The man who gets to… _Stop. Stop torturing yourself._

“He wasn’t…. he wasn’t really my boyfriend, right? The first time we hooked up, it was because… well. We had just lost a game, big time, and you and I were fighting. I felt… incredibly lonely. I couldn’t stand to stay at home alone, stewing in my own bitterness and solitude. I kept wanting to call you, but… Anyway. I was at the end of my rope, and I really needed something to make me feel good. I needed to forget myself, but I couldn’t dri-… well, I knew that drinking that day would have been a bad idea, let’s just say that.”

Jon feels like a complete failure. How could he have let Kaner think he couldn’t call him when he felt like that? How could he have let his best friend get so lonely?

“So I went to a place I knew,” Patrick continues. “Tried not to drink. And then I saw him. I saw Alex. And he… Well, like you saw yesterday, he had certain, um. Attributes. That I was really fond of.”

Hearing about how attractive Kaner finds Alex fuels a scorching fire of jealousy in Jon’s viscera. He wants to hurl again, but he holds it down and swallows painfully. Once, twice.

“Anyway. The night Alex and I first hooked up, I wasn’t… let’s just say it wasn’t one of my proudest moments, right? End of my rope and all. So, at some point after we had sex, I had a major breakdown. ‘Cause you know, I’ve got my shit together like a normal functioning adult, right?”

Patrick lets out a sour, self-deprecating laugh.

“But he didn’t mind. He let me vomit my heart out to him. He let me cry on his shoulder, and tell him all about my hopelessness and longing, and even about why I picked _him_ at the bar. And he decided that, for some reason, he liked me enough to see me again after that. Not only see me again, but even help me with my obsession. He let me indulge in my pathetic, impossible desires and fantasies… With him, I could pretend… Well. You know. Seriously, I can’t believe some of the things I made him do…”

A coral cloud blossoms on Kaner’s cheeks.

“… What with your jerseys and all.”

Jon has been completely lost for the past minute and a half, yet he has kept his promise of silence, but this is a bit too much. His jerseys? He can’t stop the question from slipping through his lips: “My jerseys? What do my jerseys have to do with anything?”

Kaner’s eyes shoot up at the words.

“I’m… I’m the one who stole your jerseys…” he answers slowly, in a cautious tone, like he isn’t quite sure why Jon is asking.

“What? Why?”

Jon is utterly disfigured by confusion. Patrick, by incredulity. 

“What do you mean why?!” he blurts out. “I made Alex wear them.” 

The crinkles in Patrick’s blushing face spell out: _‘Aren’t we on the same page? Isn’t this obvious?’_

“Alex? Why?”

“Are you… are you serious, Johnny?”

Johnny frowns.

“Wow,” Kaner mutters. Then, voice thick with shame, he says: “How can you be so dense? It’s no fucking coincidence that he looks like you.”

Jon is… entirely unresponsive.

A shrill creak is heard as Kaner springs to his feet, sending his chair staggering backwards. His hands jump violently into the air, determined and categorical.

“I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU, JOHNNY!”

Whatever Patrick expected as an answer to that, it obviously wasn’t Jon’s current state of loud silence.

“Obsessed, actually, would probably… be a more fitting… word,” the blonde continues awkwardly.

“No, you’re not,” Jon finally replies, unequivocally. 

His facial expression has become a blur of disorientation.

Suddenly, realisation hits Kaner in the jaw. 

“Johnny, when we had that fuck-up of a conversation, what did you mean when you said ‘I know’?”

“I meant that I knew that you knew that I was in love with you, and I knew that you didn’t want anything to do with it.”

The words hang in the air for a beat. Two. Then, Kaner speaks, wide-eyed.

“Yeah. Mmm. Yeah, alright. See, what I thought you ‘knew’, was that _I_ was ridiculously in love with _you._ ”

“… and that I wanted nothing to do with it?”

“Exactly.”

“Hm.”

The information hangs in the air for a beat. Two. Then, Jon processes it.

Holy shit.

HOLY SHIT.

“Wait, what?! You’re in love with me?!”

_Thunk._

Kaner’s forehead drops loudly onto the table. 

“Wasn’t it clear enough when your doppelganger opened the door? The only reason I chose him in that bar, when I was desperate and lonely, was because I thought it would be easy to pretend it was you that was fucking me.”

Jon lets out a blistering breath. A jolt of fire runs through his entrails, melting everything it touches.

“You…. You made him wear my jerseys.”

Patrick’s cheeks turn crimson.

“I think I invented new levels of pathetic,” he mumbles, with a humiliated cringe. “It must have been so degrading for him, I’m such an asshole… I finally ended it between us yesterday, after getting so drunk I couldn’t fake being sane anymore. Man, yesterday was such a nightmare. The shitty loss, not knowing where I stood with you anymore, the guilt… I drank to forget, but the only thing it made me forget was how to block out the shame I always feel. I was… I was drowning in anguish, disgrace, remorse… I was convinced I was gonna die yesterday. All I could think was: _‘please make it stop’._ ”

The pain in Patrick’s voice makes Jon’s chest tighten until he can barely pull raspy breaths into his lungs. He is completely frozen, unable to say anything, yet wanting, _needing_ to do something, _anything,_ to make the grey leave Patrick’s face. 

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” the blonde continues, eyes downcast and somber. “Pretending to be with you some nights, and then seeing you the next day at practice… It was horrendous. God, I’m so pathetic. I would, um… I would steal your jersey when you were in the showers. The next time I’d see Alex, I’d make him wear it and fuck me in it. It smelled like you.”

Patrick brings a hand to his forehead, and his body seems to shrink, as if he were trying to disappear in plain sight. He sighs brokenly, and resumes: “I’d cry like a bitch afterwards. Tell him about how I’d never get to kiss you… And the next day, I’d get rid of the jersey, too ashamed to even look at it. Wash, rinse, repeat… I had to end it, I had to. It was so wrong…”

Wrong? It should be wrong. It should be weird, it should be creepy. Instead, the idea makes Johnny’s skin warm.

“I even… made him learn some French,” Patrick mutters. “So yeah, that was bad. Really bad. Didn’t even help. At all. None of it helped… He wasn’t you. He wasn’t you, Johnny.” 

Patrick’s voice is a mix of frustration and defeat. It’s final, gloomy, and it echoes one last time before going silent: “He wasn’t you…”

Jon breathes deeply. Once, twice. He thought this conversation would go very differently. Now, he’s not quite sure what to think. A sweet taste is in his mouth, and his fingers are shaking with emotion. His fingernails tap quickly, erratically across the hard wood of the table. 

_What should I say? What do I do now? I was prepared for a lot, but certainly not this… What does he know? Does he know just how crazy I am about him?_

He wants to kiss Kaner. He wants to hold him, lift him up and look up at him as if at an angel… He wants to cover his pearly skin with his lips, and promise him the world… He wants…

_Snap out of it._

_What do you want to say?_

_I love you, I love you, I love you…_

Instead, he says: “I don’t blame you. I would have done the same eventually. I almost did worse. I’m so sorry. Believe me, last night, what happened… it’s the last thing I ever wanted to do, I… Making drunken passes at you and molesting you after you helped my miserable ass to bed… What the fuck. Seriously, what the fuck. I’m so sorry.”

Kaner laughs, lowly. He finally looks up at Johnny.

“Yeah, that messed with my head big time. At first, I had no damned clue what was going on, and then when you grabbed me I… I caught up pretty quick. Then, boom. Boner.”

A small, nervous laugh leaves Patrick’s mouth. Jon looks at him, _finally_ looks into his stormy eyes, and sees his pupils dilate. 

Jon, distressed and shocked, hadn’t really looked at Kaner’s face while they had been talking. Now, he sees the want that’s hiding in every crease of it. How long had it been there? Seconds? Years?

“Kaner, just so you understand… Just so we’re clear, just so there are no more misunderstandings, and so we don’t have a repeat of that god-awful ‘I know’ conversation… You need to know… You need to know that you’re the best thing in my life. You make it worth it. The day I stop loving you, the day I stop wanting you with all the delirious intensity in my heart, it will be because I will be six feet under.”

Kaner’s eyes are black, and wet. 

“We’re two complete idiots,” he says, hands blindly seeking Johnny’s on the table. 

“Yes.”

Their fingers brush, and it feels like the world stops turning.

“Two idiots who drive each other crazy.”

“Yes.”

Their hearts are thumping deafeningly in the quiet room.

“Two idiots who did completely ridiculous things because the mere thought that the other would never reciprocate their feelings made them want to tear out their hair.”

“Yes.”

A shiver runs through Jon’s scalp as Kaner’s rosy smile slowly falls towards him. 

“But now… we’ve got our shit together, right? It’s very clear that we both want and need the other with an absurd force.”

“Yes.”

Patrick’s lips are the most beautiful petals Jon has ever seen; carmine red, humid, fluttering, fragrant. Jon wants to pluck them with his teeth.

“Kaner, can I ask you something?”

Jon’s voice is breathy, damp.

“Sure, Tazer.”

“Is this the part when I can finally fucking kiss you?”

When the words register, Kaner stops smiling. His lips drop open and his breath visibly speeds up. 

3…

2…

1…

He jumps. He half climbs onto the table, reaches for Jon and kisses him, attacks him with all he’s got. 

Jon feels like a prisoner. A prisoner to whom someone says: ‘you’re free’. They open the door of his prison cell, they unshackle him and throw him headfirst into freedom. The first few seconds, he is petrified. He doesn’t believe it. Then, he runs like he’s never fucking ran before.

The table screeches as he sits Kaner on it. He holds his face between his hands, pulls it closer, presses Kaner’s sleek lips between his. Their noses graze each other’s cheeks, their heated breaths intertwine and their mouths dissolve into one another. Pulling away feels like reopening a cauterized wound. 

Jon looks into Patrick’s eyes, roams his face, focuses on all the skin he can reach. He just wants to _see_ every fucking piece of him. 

He closes his eyes, and his fingers take over, caressing and rubbing all the burning flesh he can touch. He just wants to _feel_ every fucking piece of him.

“Please don’t let this be a dream,” he whispers to himself.

An open laugh hits Jon’s eardrum, the kind of laugh he hasn’t heard in a long time. A soft kiss touches the side of his mouth. He whines, and has to catch himself before letting all his weight melt into Kaner’s body beneath him. He opens his eyes slowly, and sees the loving smile on Patrick’s mouth as he reaches out to weave his hand into Jon’s hair. Once, twice. 

Kaner kisses a collar onto Jon’s neck, pulling open his robe with swift fingers. 

Patrick’s hair brushes slowly across Johnny’s collarbones. His lips are a soft tingle across his neck, and his hands, a light caress across his abdomen. 

The unbearable lightness of Patrick’s touch across his body makes Jon wonderfully dizzy by the time Patrick’s hand stops on his lower belly. His other hand lands delicately onto Jon’s back, and his lips land on the crook of his neck. 

Jon’s palms travel up Patrick’s thighs, around his waist, under his shirt, up his back. He’s getting intoxicated on the feeling of Patrick’s body beneath his skin. Jon wants to cry. His whole being is vibrating, shattering, trembling in relief. He feels like he might be able to survive this life after all.

Suddenly, Jon’s fingers rush into Patrick’s wild curls, and he grabs on for dear life.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Kaner whispers sweetly, and he grabs onto Jon a bit harder.

They stay like that for a bit, clinging to one another motionlessly as they breathe into each other’s skin. Slowly, Kaner starts lowering his hand on Jon’s body. Jon starts rubbing small circles on the nape of his neck. 

“Is this okay?” Patrick mumbles in a rough voice.

Jon seizes Patrick’s hand and brings it exactly where he needs it, where he’s needed it for… God, for years. Two gasps fill the room. Frantically, mouths devour lips and moans overpower whines. Jon unbuttons Patrick’s pants and slips his hand in his boxers. The two men are close enough that their swift hands are brushing against each other with every movement. Jon shoves his hips a bit closer still. 

“Fuck.”

They have become a carnal mess of crotches and hands, rubbing frenziedly, feverishly, erratically again and again, always closer… 

Always closer, harsher, warmer… 

Always closer…

Until they almost scream. Until they come, almost crying from how good it is, from how much they wanted it, from how long they thought they would never have it. 

They don’t let go of each other, never let go of each other, rough breaths mixing deliciously between them as their hands refuse to leave the other’s chest. Why would they leave, when they can feel the mad beating of the other’s heart under their skin? 

They hold each other impossibly close, head in the crook of each other’s neck, sweat combining, cum staining each other’s clothes, as if they were trying desperately to become one. 

All of a sudden, Kaner pulls away, only to hold Jon’s face to his. 

“Say it,” he whispers. “Please.” 

“I love you.” 

“Again.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you….” Jon chants. Kaner kisses his face every time he says it. His eyelids, his mouth, his nose, his chin, his cheeks, his forehead, his eyebrows… He wants to keep saying it forever. 

They start laughing, so relieved and happy it sounds more like a death than a laugh.

Johnny’s smiling so widely he can barely stop it from taking up his whole face. He combs Kaner’s hair with his fingers, and places a gentle kiss on his hairline. 

“Kaner… I feel like you’ve just delivered me. You’ve put me out of my misery. My heart has never felt lighter. You’ve saved me from this fucking life. You’ve killed me, baby, and it’s the best feeling ever.”

“Jon, I would do anything for you. I’d kill you again, I’d kill you for real. I’d kill you in a heartbeat. If you asked me to.”

Jon looks into Patrick’s crystalline eyes, and notices in passing that living has never been worth it before this moment. A single tear burns a trail down his face. He feels like bursting.

“Kaner, will you die with me, and be forever dead by my side?”

“In a heartbeat.”

They hold up a hand to each other’s temple. A hand shaped like a gun. 

They shoot, and fall into each other, where they’ve always belonged. Drenched in red love.

Who could wish for a happier ending?

The end.


End file.
